


Like a Rocky Promontory

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mourning, cameo by betsy the cat for comfort, canon character death, sad peach verse, spirituality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 01:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11933568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv





	Like a Rocky Promontory

“It’s lovely,” said Thomas, looking over the sketching James had done of a naval ship for the McMullen boys, sons of their closest neighbors. He was rather proud of it. He’d labeled practically everything and had even added in sailing directions and a sketch of the sun’s positions. The boys—especially Issac—had become fascinated with sailing. They would listen with rapt attention when James spoke of his navy days to them.

Thomas had adored it. James would see him with that little smile on his face reserved only for him when he spoke to the boys. Now, however, Thomas’s expression seemed troubled and distracted. James sat down the drawing.

“What’s wrong?”

If possible Thomas’s face grew even more somber.

“Nothing precisely,” he answered. “But there’s something I need to show you, something I’ve been working on these past few days. I put it up while you were gone hunting yesterday.”

“Oh? Surely it cannot be to blame for this face?” James asked, concern filling his eyes.

Thomas frown-smiled at him and offered his hand for James to take. Brow furrowed even more James took it and they left the cabin, walking through the orchard.

“Where are we going?”

“The northern end of the orchard,” said Thomas.

As they neared their destination James looked ahead of them, wondering what on earth Thomas could be leading him to.

There sat the figure of a headstone as they passed the last peach tree, certainly not there before. Even before he was close enough to see the words etched into it, James felt something heavy settle over his chest. He dragged his eyes to the inscription as he neared it: 

_Miranda Barlow-Hamilton_

_1672-1715_

_Beloved friend, wife, and lover_

_You should be like a rocky promontory against which the restless surf continually pounds._

__

The quote was one of her favorites from Meditations. The stone was granite, gray and simple but large with block lettering. A bouquet of yellow lilies, Miranda’s favorite, rested on the ground against the stone.

“Please do not be too upset,” said Thomas very softly next to him, hand slipping out of James’s. James barely noticed.

“I know it seems pointless,” continued Thomas, “but she needed…more than what she received.”

James felt frozen to the spot. The old feelings he had never rid himself of from Charlestown bubbled up again, one after another, until he was incapable of responding one way or the other, save for the tears that greeted his eyes. They turned the headstone into a blurry watercolor, but he did not look away from it.

“She would not have wanted to be buried in London,” Thomas said. James heard the tears in his voice. “And from what you told me I did not think Nassau was quite appropriate either. So…”

He broke off, his voice cracking. James stepped forward and tentatively touched the top of the stone, letting his fingers graze down to trace the ‘M’ and ‘I’ of her name. He inhaled and let it out slowly, closing his eyes to relieve the burning there.

“She needed something. _I_ needed something,” Thomas said, almost in desperation.

James turned around and took Thomas in his arms, pressing him close. Thomas shuddered out a shaky breath and clung to his back.

“I’m not angry,” James said quietly.

He pulled back and looked at his lover, hands on Thomas’s shoulders.

“I know it’s still difficult for you to think of her,” he said, eyes searching James’s as if he still needed confirmation this was all right.

James stepped back beside Thomas and looked at the headstone again, taking his hand and squeezing it into his own.

“She was your _wife_ ,” James replied earnestly. “You had a life with her before I ever entered into it. She spoke often of her love for you when I could not, even towards the end. She was nearly defiant about it, really. Reminding me of it. There were times I could not understand why, but now I’m grateful for it. My anger was so great it threatened to strangle my memories of the love I had of the two of you in London. She was my anchor.”

It felt good to say it all and say it succinctly, without stumbling over his own tongue in an effort to articulate the meaning of it all.

“Truly?” Thomas asked, his tone hopeful and surprised.

James looked at him and nodded. “Truly.”

“She was stronger than us both,” said Thomas.

As James stared at the stone Thomas’s words seemed to sink deeper with each passing moment. Yes, in so many ways Miranda had been stronger—at least stronger than he. She had grieved the loss of Thomas and had been ready to move on but he never could. She’d been an outcast even in Nassau in a way James never had. She’d dealt with loneliness in a way James had not.

Just then Betsy the cat made an appearance, having been outside all day mousing. She approached Miranda’s headstone and sniffed it, then rubbed her side against it, arching her back.

“Oh,” Thomas made a little noise and James saw fresh tears spill down his cheeks. Despite it all James gave a little laugh.

“You always were the sensitive one,” he teased.

Thomas managed a smile and squeezed his hand in response. They stood there another moment in silence, then began the walk back through the orchard. James had never been religious (nor Thomas), but he imagined—not for the first time—that somehow a part of Miranda was here with them in the New World. Her spirit, perhaps; he did not know. But he imaged how happy she would have been to see he and Thomas here, living peacefully and loving each other as fully as they had done for an all too brief moment in time when she’d been there to witness it. He imagined how happy the peach trees would make her. He could almost see her reaching up and plucking one off the tree, wearing her simple white dress and garden hat.

James was too overcome to say any of it just now, though he wanted to. Instead he held Thomas’s hand all the way back to the cabin. Once they were inside he kissed Thomas softly, cupping his face the way he used to do with Miranda.

“She would have loved it here,” Thomas said softly, lips brushing up against James’s.

“She would have,” replied James.

The next morning James woke with thoughts of Miranda. For the first time he didn’t push them away but held on to them, keeping them close to his heart where they belonged.


End file.
